


Fly With Me

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.</em> - Roman Payne, <em>The Wanderess</em></p><p>It was slowly dawning upon on her that freedom – in every sense – was within her grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday to an absolutely gorgeous person - inside and out. I hope it was every bit as wonderful as you deserve! XOXO, CG
> 
>  _Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born._ ― Anaïs Nin

“Have you decided on dinner, then?”

“Ah… Yes. Well, that is… No. No, I suppose not,” he admitted rather sheepishly. This was not like him. He prided himself on being the decisive sort – the kind of man that others relied on for leadership and guidance and their goddamn personal safety. _So why the hell couldn’t he manage to order his dinner?_

He knew the answer all too well. “Perhaps you might recommend something?”

She regarded the man with an impassive expression but her eyes were keen. He wore a charcoal suit with a deep blue silk tie. The colours were understated enough but the pinstripes and the full Windsor betrayed a touch of vanity. This gentleman was handsome to be sure, yet did not carry himself like some of the so-called _damerini_ that often darkened her door. She appreciated the ruggedness about him. And his expressive eyes. His downturned mouth reminded her of another’s. This man needed comfort.

The decision was made. “The stracciatella soup to start, I think. Risotto piselli, followed by involtini. Sì?”

For the first time that evening, the man smiled. “Sì.”

She snapped her elegant fingers to summon a waiter to take the order to the kitchen. It was a matter of a moment before she turned to resume her duties when he called out to her.

“Wait! Will you? I mean…” _What the hell was he doing?_ That was no way to speak to this woman. He had never known her equal. She was warm and poised and devastatingly pretty. The way she had appraised him led him to believe her rather clever as well. Her curves were flattered by her black beaded sheath and, for a mortifying second, all he could think about was burying his head in her hips and calling it home. “Would you care to join me?”

“I have customers,” she replied, not precisely answering the question.

“Perhaps after, then? Ah…”

“Concetta.”

“Concetta,” he repeated, his voice somewhat dazed.

“Forse.”

 

********************

 

“Dolci?”

“Thank you, no. Not much of a sweet tooth, I’m afraid.”

Her smile was small and accepting but inwardly, she felt relieved beyond measure. It was a silly thing, really, but the existence of such a glaring distinction between the two men had the effect of grounding her. It had been a long time since a man captured her attention and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he seemed so familiar. But Gianni had never once passed on dessert.

“Coffee then? Or perhaps a drink? Signore?”

“Compton. Group Captain Lyle Compton of the Royal Australian Air Force, at your service.”

 

********************

 

It was an espresso, then another, followed by the ceremonious uncorking of the last bottle of grappa her grandfather had made before he had gone into hiding.

After arranging the murder of Roberto Salvatore, Poppa Antonio had little choice but to wait until the _padrino_ back in the old country realized the death was no loss before he could return to his seat of power. And with Vincenzo on the grog since the conviction of his sweetheart, Concetta was in left in charge of the restaurant, the finances, and – at long last – her independence.

They lingered over their drinks, lamenting their lot in intimate generalities – the way strangers do.

“Were you in love with her?”

“No. We were never in love with each other. It was rather more…” he struggled to find the right word to use without offense… “Chemical. Still, it was no picnic to watch her swanning off after some other bloke – while still wearing my shearling coat.” He winced slightly at the bruise his ego had taken that night and finished his drink.

“I’m no longer the same man,” he sighed. “I was quite the daredevil once, you know. The wind on my wings and the sun on my face… I thought life was one great adventure after the next.”

“That sounds exciting,” a touch of jealousy coloured her words.

“It was,” he remembers fondly. “But I’ve had to cultivate the rather annoying habit of being responsible.”

“La forza e dei giovani, la prudenza degli anziani. Is a saying… Youth has strength, the old have prudence.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he chuckled. “Always fancied myself a bit of a wild child. But I suppose it’s time to admit that I prefer the safer route these days.”

“And I am feeling just the opposite. La ragazza selvaggia. Wild child.” She giggled under her breath, the back of her hand flying to cover her mouth, as a blush flushed her cheeks.

“It suits you. You are far lovelier in laughter than in tears,” Compton mused.

“Do you think so?” Concetta asked in earnest, her almond eyes betraying the pain she still felt.

“Without a doubt. Were you in love with him?”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Sì. But it was for the best.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been so charitable,” he replied in an attempt to draw her out.

She waved her hand in a dismissing sort of gesture – though it was plain she only hoped to be able to forget it that easily. “He could not have loved me the way I wanted him to.”

“What a fool,” Compton murmured, taking her hand and bringing it to brush against his lips. “I can’t seem to stop thinking of ways I’d like to love you.”

She stood with such fierceness, he braced himself and considered the best way to maintain his dignity walking back onto base while wearing half a bottle of grappa and a handprint across his cheek. _Damn! He used to be smooth once._

Halfway up the staircase, she turned to him and called, “Vieni o no?”

 

*******************

 

By the time he caught up, her dark hair was falling in rivulets down the length of her back – the tortoiseshell comb coming to rest on the top of a bureau in a dimly lit bedroom that was obviously her quarters. She turned shyly to face him and he felt suddenly breathless.

“Is this your first-“ Compton was many things, but he wasn’t a cad. If she was a virgin, it was better to know so he could make provisions for her comfort. He was silenced by the press of her warm mouth to his.

“No.” Her filigree earrings danced as she shook her head. “I was married. Widowed.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing the hair back from her face and she met his gaze in complete honesty.

“I am not. But it has been a very long time all the same.”

Lyle kissed her softly, steady fingers freeing the buttons of her gown. The dress fell into a heap around her feet, leaving her in her black slip and underthings, and he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her skin shone bronze in the room’s soft glow and her eyes were pools of amber – a goddess made mortal. She deserved to be worshipped.

He wanted to ask if her husband had been kind, if he had pleased her, if he had even a shred of the sense the Good Lord bestowed on even the most foolish of men. He wanted to ask if the man she had loved had been deranged. Or blind. But he did not. Instead he swore, “I promise to make it worth the wait.”

Concetta nodded her consent but sucked on her bottom lip with trepidation. This man wanted her. Not in the way that her husband had wanted to possess her. And certainly not in the way that Gianni only wished to be kind to her. She had never been _desired_ before she had met Captain Lyle Compton. She had known this – wanted it desperately – but now that it was hers, she didn’t know what to do with the feeling that bubbled up in her chest and made her face flush.

As if reading her thoughts, he placed a chaste kiss upon her mouth and sat down gingerly next to her. He silently removed his shoes, then his coat and tie. “Not another stitch will come off unless you say so. Alright?”

She smiled shyly. “You think I’m nervous.”

“Aren’t you?”

“…Sì.”

He lowered his head to brush kisses up the length of her neck, from shoulder to ear. “I want to bring you to release.” he whispered. “Just you.” Concetta had never been offered this before – Fabrizzi always took his own pleasure, never once giving a thought to hers. “Would you like that?” A thrill shot through him when her serene sigh turned into a whinge as his teeth tugged gently on her earlobe, her hands fisting into the bedclothes for purchase.

“Good,” he approved, sliding down to the foot of the bed to begin to remove her shoes. His lips traced the bones of her ankle as he removed the straps and she gasped as his moustache scratched against her skin. “If you want me to stop,” he looked up at her meaningfully, “All you need to do is say so. Understand?”

“Capisto.” It was barely a sound.

He rose over her to lay between her thighs for just a moment, before kissing her languidly. She opened her mouth to him and he caressed her tongue lightly with his own until she pulled him closer. “Per favore?”

Gathering the art silk into his hands, he slid her slip up and over her body and let it fall soundlessly to the floor. “Turn over… That’s it. Now, give me your hands…” Compton wrapped her fingers around the iron tines of the bedframe. “Yes, hold on tight. Otherwise, you won’t know what to do with them and it will become a distraction.”

His voice was soothing and assured at the same time. She felt safe with him and suddenly knew how he had come to command a squadron of flyers. She would have followed him anywhere if he kept talking to her like this. She nodded, readjusting her grip to be slightly more comfortable and nestled her head into the mattress.

Gentle hands parted her hair, the lush curls pushed over each shoulder so he could access the back of her neck. “Bellissima,” he hummed, the resonance along her spine bringing tears to her eyes. She thought the position was odd at first but now she was grateful he could not see her face.

Slowly, she began to realize that her repose was chosen with purpose. Was it so obvious that she was unaccustomed to the affection of a man? Or perhaps he had sensed that she needed this time to herself… To allow her body the freedom to feel without having to perform.

One by one, he removed her bandeau, garter belt, stockings, and knickers, lavishing every inch of revealed skin with affection. With every slide of his hand against her flesh, each press of his velvet lips with their erotic flutter of fringe, she rose in spirit – the weight falling away from her shoulders. By the time she was bare, she could feel the slickness between her legs, the aching press of her nipples against the mattress – and held on to the iron scrollwork for dear life.

She wanted intercourse. It was what she had been taught to expect came next – her only chance at finding the pleasure that men seemed to in the act. “Lyle, I need you… Dentro.”

He had paused to kiss her and stroke the sides of her breasts – casting spells of gooseflesh down her body. “Not yet,” came his muffled response. He was already between her thighs again, kissing a path up the backs of her legs, the gorgeous feeling of his hair brushing against her bottom.

Nudging her knees further part, he lay between them and parted her with hands cupped beneath her. She had tensed, perhaps thinking that he would answer her plea for penetration. But he had far more selfish delights in store. The light golden fruit of her cunt was glazed in sweetness and it reminded of the succulence of eating his first papaya at a fuel stopover in India.

“Cristo santo!”

Her blasphemous oath, when he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, told him everything he needed to know about her experience in being pleasured this way. Fondling the backs of her legs to distract her from the intensity, he gentled the strokes of his tongue so they were light teases that darted from one place to the next.

“Cosa fai?” she demanded, unused to the strong sensations. But it was the disquieting intimacy of his mouth in such a place that unnerved her. “What are you doing?”

Crawling over her to loosen her grip from the posts, he turned her over to face him. “Do you wish me to stop?”

However uncertain Concetta was, she couldn’t deny that her flesh was still pulsing with the feeling of him. Still she was torn – and it showed, her brows pinched over irises of glassy onyx.

“How could it be a sin when you taste like Heaven?” he asked and, to her utter shock, he kissed her, transferring the salty-sweet tang of herself between their lips. The thrill of it seized her and she fisted her hands into his hair to pull him closer, a moan barely escaping in the space between them.

This was the kiss she had longed for – the one Gianni could not give her. It uncoiled and undulated all around her, the heat loosening the flesh from her bones, his tongue uncoupling the reservation from her desires. She would have bound herself eternally to Jack if had he kissed her this way. But Compton’s embrace was a wide open sky and she found herself flying free – the possibilities endless.

Her laugh of delight broke the kiss and she cupped his full, boyish face. “It is a rare thing – a man who cares what pleases a woman.”

“Does that mean I am pleasing you?” he asked, a sly tone salting the reverence of the question. He had not pegged her for the delicate sort, but she _was_ cautious – hurt too many times to give her heart away easily. He dipped his hand between them to coat his fingertips in her moreish essence and sucked one of them clean, reveling in her suddenly hungry expression.

“Si,” she replied, pressing her thrumming lips to his and darting her tongue through his mouth to taste it again, moaning with the lust that began to consume her as he shared the flavours between them.

Compton smiled against her mouth. It was a game now, one she has sanctioned and one he plans for both of them to enjoy immensely. His hand moved between them again, deft fingers stroking through her, circling her clitoris lightly until she gasped, her hand snaking inside the collar of his shirt to grip his shoulder. The whimper of disappointment that crossed her lips when he withdrew his hand was a beautiful sound – like the whining engine of his beloved Sopwith Pup.

“Don’t worry, love. We’re only just getting started.” He traced her essence along her throat, leaving a long glimmering arc which he then lapped from her. As he kissed her neck, he could feel the tension rise in her body as his knuckles dragged teasingly back down to her centre. Her teeth bared down on her bottom lip, eyes shut tight awaiting the next wave of sensation.

He took his time and built her desire, swirling his fingers between her folds – and finally into her passage, where he stroked with firm pressure against her walls. He wanted her to _want_ , so he teased and withdrew - her protests growing louder each time. But her exuberance in these interludes was equally fervent, so he painted her body with her desire, sucking it from her skin as her cries of pleasure expand the air.  Her plum-tipped breasts, the curve of her belly, the insides of her knees – each anointed with his exquisite attention until she was trembling with the need to be brought undone.

At last his mouth fell upon her and she cried out almost instantly, twisting her hips to both get closer and further away from the shock that has electrified her nerves. His hands snaked around her to hold her tight so she could not arch away from him as he gently swirled his tongue over her sensitive flesh. More than anything, he wanted her to know the joy her body could bring her. He spread one hand wide across her hip and added his other to the ministrations of his mouth. One stroke, two, and a gentle suction was all it took, and Concetta tensed and shook as her orgasm overtook her, moaning softly in words he could not understand. Still, he did not remove himself from her – merely gentled his attention so as not to ruin her moment.

He waited for her breath to return almost to normal before he nibbled on her clitoris and sent her reeling again – this time screaming his name and trying to close her thighs together to unseat him. He merely held her closer – the vibration of his satisfied chortle along with the scrape of his teeth bringing her to a fierce and swift climax.

Concetta had been soaring – her body thrumming with the rhythmic pulsing of her muscles – when it seemed a jolt of lightning had knocked her out of the sky. Arcs of current engulfed her, white-hot, causing her body to spasm and wrenching a cry from her chest.

Her limbs were warm and heavy. She opened her eyes to find Compton propped up beside her, a rather satisfied expression on his face – considering he still wore most of his clothes. His eyes crinkled roguishly as he smiled with amusement, watching her struggle to focus her gaze.

“Shhh... Relax.” he whispered, his lips still curled in fondness. He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her gently on the mouth.

The blush warmed her cheeks as the realization of what had happened hit her.

“You were quite something,” he hummed, fingers mapping the planes of her jaw. Compton took her in with appraising eyes as she lay naked, shimmering gold in the glory of her pleasure – she was, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“And you…” she began, unsure of the emotions that roiled inside her. “You said you were reckless. But non ti credo… I don’t believe you.”

Compton bit back on a laugh that was both bitter and proud. “Perhaps in other things. But never in an aeroplane.” He lost himself in her eyes as they seemed to see right to the heart of him. “And never with you.” Her mouth was warm and tender as she returned his kiss, allowing him to explore and taste her all over again.

“Il mio amante d’cielo,” she said softly, rolling him onto his back. “Will you stay?”

“That depends.” He halted her with a hand on her hip. “Will you fly with me?”

There was a sparkle in his eye and in his words that she wanted to experience for herself. It was slowly dawning upon on her that freedom – in every sense – was within her grasp.

“Sì,” Concetta replied with a smile.

“Then…Sì.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Meanings where Concetta does not do the translating for you:  
> Forse - Perhaps  
> La ragazza selvaggia - wild child  
> Vieni o no? - You coming or not?  
> Dentro - Inside  
> Il mio amante d’cielo - My man (lover) of the sky. A twist on the fact that the name Lyle actually means "of the island."
> 
> The prompt for this birthday fic was "unusual pairings."


End file.
